Unspoken
He had dropped his pack for the night, looking forward to easing the ache in his legs when she was suddenly there.
Her face was twisted in an inexplicable fury, hot enough to draw a startled "What?" from his mouth.
She had never once spoken to him, nor even glanced in his direction as far as he could tell, since they left Denerim. Now she looked as if he had offered to roast her dog for supper.
Still wordless, she glared at him before snatching up his possessions and moving them a quarter turn around the camp fire. When she was finished, she stalked off toward the treeline, whistling for her Mabari hound.
Stunned and confused, he looked at her other companions for an explanation. Hostile silence was his only answer until the rolling purr of Antiva carried across the crackling flames.
"That was Alistair's place."
"Maric's whelp?"
Zevran's smile was grim. "I, having also felt the sting of her blades at one time, would highly recommend that you be more respectful of our former compatriot, Lohgain. Especially where she can hear you."
The older man snorted. "Taken with him, was she?"
The Crow paused in sharpening his daggers, raising his golden eyes to pin the former Teyrn.
"Suffices to say, you were not the only one who lost dearly at the Landsmeet."